


Whiskey Reduction

by JazzRaft



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Established Relationship, Food Porn, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-06
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2019-01-30 09:58:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12651276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JazzRaft/pseuds/JazzRaft
Summary: They have a bottle of whiskey and all the time to kill to test it out on some new recipes.





	Whiskey Reduction

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aithilin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aithilin/gifts).



> written for #7 and #12 from [this fall prompt list](http://dresupi.tumblr.com/post/165250120349/fallautumn-writing-prompts-for-your-otp)

“You’ll like this. I promise.”

Noctis lanced a critical brow up at him, a lifetime of nutritious betrayals served out like a court case in a single look. Ignis appeased the soundless accusation by fixing him a drink.

“Carrots,” Noctis immediately suspected, wrinkling his nose at the jar of orange puree Ignis selected from the fridge.

“Not in a cocktail.”

“Liar. I’ve seen those abominations on plenty of menus before. Don’t think I didn’t see you jotting down ideas for one.”

Anything could be made into a drink these days. He’d once seen a carrot cake cocktail that was more car bomb than cake. As if Noctis needed more of a reason to condemn the super-root by royal decree. Neither of them were big drinkers, Ignis more out of responsibility for his station and Noctis from learning by bad example. Growing up attending functions where the only way his peers knew how to have fun was to drink until they were vomiting down the fronts of their thousand dollar rentals had dampened any desire to venture a glass himself. But it was just the two of them for the night now, older and wiser and adventuring through the kitchen cabinets. And the recipe Ignis had in mind was more fruit juice than whiskey.

“It’s just some berry and citrus,” Ignis assured him, dropping a few tablespoons into the cocktail shaker. “With syrup and cinnamon. You’ll like it.”

He set the jar beside Noct’s arm, pretending he didn’t see how he sniffed the citrusy-sweet mixture like a distrusting kitten. Ignis returned the lifted brow of leery ludicrousness and disarmed Noctis from his inspection, shaking up the cocktail and pouring him a neat glass to give him something else to do than dissect the ingredients for Iggy’s dinner.

“Never took you for a whiskey man, Specs. Been hanging around with those Kingsglaive boys too much.”

Noctis inspected the squat amber bottle, the edges of his lips sneaking up into a smirk. As if he was any less guilty of secreting out from under Cor’s watchful eye to steal extra lessons from the Glaive. Ignis had never intended to be drawn into their tutelage, never imagined there was anything they could teach him that he hadn’t already learned in the decades of practice with the Crownguard. But accompanying Noctis on his troublesome excursions across the training lots had found him trapped in numerous debates about flavor profiles and cultural delicacies with men who had “actual restaurant experience.” Cheeky bastards.

Ignis garnished the drink with a cinnamon stick and dropped in a little star anise for extra fall excellence, setting the glass on a napkin and sliding it into Noct’s waiting grasp with a smooth twist of his wrist.

“Nyx teach you how to do that?”

“I could have Moogled it.”

“Moogled yourself a bottle of authentic Galahdian whiskey, too?” Noctis waved the bottle in front of him, the dark liquor splashing quietly against the insides. “I think they might like you down there, Specs.”

“Perish the thought.” He snatched the damning bottle from his fingers, insisting he instead occupy them with the cocktail glass. “Lest Miss Altius perishes it for you.”

“She loves me. And she definitely likes you.”

“Go start up the fire, why don’t you?” Ignis flicked a hand out to the balcony, glass doors half cracked open to invite out some of the heat from the oven. “And no cheating.”

Noctis whined in protest, sweeping up the cocktail and taking it to the balcony. “What’s the point of learning spells if I can’t apply them to practical situations?”

“Igniting a squad of MTs to avoid capture or bodily harm in the field is practical. Lighting a pit fire hardly calls for such excessive use of the arcane arts. Besides all that, you have a glass of lighter fluid in your hand.”

“I’ll put it down, _duh_ ,” Noctis scoffed in his best impersonation of a spoiled teenager, throwing in an appropriate eye-roll to go with it.

Ignis turned to the oven with a snort and a shake of his head, smiling when he heard the small slurp, then the satisfied swear of approval for the cocktail before the window-glass obscured Noct’s voice. Ignis pulled the griffon breasts from the oven, filling the apartment with the scent of melted butter, roasted meat, and herbs perfuming the heat.

Ignis had snatched up the gamey cuts the instant he saw them on sale. Noctis disliked abusing the royal purse as much as Ignis did himself, as if the money weren’t Noct’s by right to use as he see fit. They both liked to pay with money they earned themselves, only dipping into the trusts in case of emergencies. Griffon meat was an indulgence, and Galahdian whiskey a gift they wouldn’t otherwise get for themselves on a whim. If the dish was a success, he intended to return the generosity with the cuts he’d stored in the fridge, soaking up flavor from the cured meat bound around it and the seasonings seeping into the meat beneath it.

Ignis finished off the sauce while Noctis finished the fire. Ignis knew he was done without even turning to look. He could feel the soft prod of curious eyes on his back as clearly as if he was poking fingers against his spine. Ignis poured the griffon stock he’d prepped the night before into the roasting tin, scraping up the juices from the meat and letting them dissolve before adding some red jelly, blackcurrants, and beetroot. Sweet and savory, the apartment smelled as warm as it felt, closing around Ignis as he plated.

Crisp and buttery slices of bread were topped with the roasted griffon, then given an artful drizzle of the berry and beet sauce. By the time he delivered the plates to the balcony, Noctis was grinning in anticipation, sitting up straight in the cushy balcony chair beneath his favorite, dark plaid quilt. Their little pit fire crackled and snapped excitedly next to him. Ignis slanted a suspicious glance at Noctis for the lively fire, but the hungry prince, snatched a plate from his hands and ushered him to sit before he could accuse him of abusing his magic for such a menial task.

“Warm enough?” Ignis asked, simple concerns crafted from years of habit.

Noctis nodded absently, already taking a knife and fork to the juicy meat. The butter and herbs and dark juice soaked into the bread beneath and swiped through the pooling mahogany sauce. Ignis collected his forkful more slowly, waiting for whatever noise he knew he could expect from Noctis to indicate whether or not he liked it. His shoulders straightened with pride when he was awarded with the low moan and closed eyes of rapturous pleasure upon tasting the first bite.

“Who needs vegetables when you can make something this good without them?”

“You’re aware that beetroot is considered a vegetable, aren’t you?”

“That’s not a vegetable. Nothing that sweet is a vegetable.”

Ignis placated him with silence and a smile, enjoying his own work with the added satisfaction of Noct’s approval flavoring the dish. Insomnia twinkled far below them in the November chill, windows blinking on and off like a thousand winking stars. The muted voices of a thousand travelers and the hum of car tires on the freeways brushed up along the spires of the skyscrapers. A night of no particular significance to anyone other than themselves, and only made more on a whim and some whiskey.

“Where did you pick this one up?” Noctis asked, gathering as much of the sweet sauce on his forkful of meat as he could.

“Something I made up. A little Lucian-Galahdian fusion, in honor of our friends in the Kingsglaive.”

“Is that allowed?” Noctis chuckled.

“If you like it, I dare say it can be.”

“Using my position to further your culinary exploits, Specky? I’m heartbroken.”

“Nothing a few antioxidants won’t fix.”

“Let me guess…”

“Carrots, tomatoes, leafy greens, broccoli, all heart healthy alternatives.”

Noctis made a face and stuck out his tongue, stained a deep purple-red from the beetroot juice in the sauce. He finished his food and set the empty plate aside, reclaiming the half-finished cocktail before pulling his legs beneath him and settling close against Iggy’s side beneath the blanket.

“Guess I better keep you around, then.”

“I suppose you should.”


End file.
